


The Demon In My View

by Jesse_Tee



Series: Nevermore [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Hint of M/M, M/M, Mouthy Cardassian, Persistent snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10508568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse_Tee/pseuds/Jesse_Tee
Summary: Garak is not at all happy about his current living conditions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set on a very AU Terok Nor. Slight details of Garak’s and Dukat’s history have been altered for the sake of the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Inspired by the poem "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe. Words from same used without permission, so please don't sue. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
> 
> Feedback of course is always welcome!

 

Different.

Odd.

Secretive.

Unsettling.

Enigmatic.

These are all words that I've grown used to hearing again and again. When you have been labeled as a ‘disgraced former spy' it's easy to slip into the role that’s already been written for you and continue presenting people with whatever it is they seem to expect from you. In many ways it's far easier than simply being yourself. If all you have to do is feed their own preconceived notions back to them there's little to no brainwork involved. Let them think whatever they like while you go about your normal routine of discreetly observing them. Deflection and obfuscation _are_ my stock in trade, after all.

// _From childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were; I have not seen_

_As others saw; I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring_ \\\

Until some arrogant, know-it-all Gul swaggers into your life with the same confidence he carries as he saunters up to the Ferengi’s bar to order a glass of kanar. Almost from the day we met, I had serious reservations about being “assigned” to the same station as Dukat. His public “performance mode” persona was just as irritating and insincere as the actual man. Just another strutting alpha male. A walking ego trip if you will. Of course, everyone under his command absolutely loved him. And why wouldn't they? He was just the sort of ill bred, narcissistic egomaniac that they could all aspire to be like. He could talk his way into anybody's good graces - and also their bed. Except mine, of course. It would take a great deal more than one after another of his incessant, droning monologues to win me over. Some of us _do_ have standards, after all.

// _From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone_

_And all I loved, I loved alone_ \\\

I prefer to stay apart from most people, finding them rather dull and one-dimensional. I have never been the type to simply sit in one place for hours at a time, listening to the same fabricated stories of exaggerated glory repeated ad nauseum for the adoring masses. Mine is very much a one man operation if an oftentimes lonely one. It _is_ rather curious, though. I'd already made up my mind almost from the start to detest Dukat and avoid him as much as possible. Yet the very first time we ever sparred verbally it was like poetry in motion. I had to admit to myself - reluctantly of course - that not only did our unintentional audience seem to enjoy the interaction but we really did play well off of each other, each giving as good as he got.

// _Then- in my childhood, in the dawn_

_Of a most stormy life- was drawn_

_From every depth of good and ill_

_The mystery which binds me still_ \\\

So then he decided to turn my whole world upside down. During yet another of our displays of verbal martial arts the station suffered an unexpected but brutally effective attack by a rogue Tzenkethi vessel. While we were under fire a circuit panel on the Promenade exploded behind me and the resultant flying shrapnel laid my scalp open. There was a great deal of blood which certainly did not bother me - obviously I’ve seen more than my fair share over the years - but the resultant loss of consciousness was quite beyond my control. I was told later that Dukat was the one who actually contacted the infirmary on my behalf. Call it latent guilt. Call it false sympathy. Call it whatever you wish. Just please don't call it a genuinely considerate gesture because I really don't think I could bear that. I'm supposed to dislike him. It helps to pass the hours that I spend mostly in solitude and tedium. So why did he have to be so… kind?

// _From the torrent, or the fountain_

_From the red cliff of the mountain_

_From the sun that round me rolled_

_In its autumn tint of gold_ \\\

So I was lying there on the biobed, bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow, already disoriented from pain medication, getting the wound on my head closed up and I noticed that he was by my side. I told the stupid, stubborn, son of a targ to get out. And did he listen to me? Of course not. All I saw was red, I was so furious with him for not doing as I insisted. But he looked so... worried. Please don't tell me that was genuine feeling I was seeing. Not from him. But he was watching me with such concern, such intensity in his eyes. His extraordinary eyes. So blue. So expressive. So vivid. So...

Get a hold of yourself, Elim. He is **NOT** your type, you are most assuredly **NOT** interested, and you most certainly are **NOT** going to ask him to...

"Yes."

This is the pain medication talking. It must be. It's the blow to the head coupled with trauma… with something. Is this arrogant, pompous man trying to read my mind now? I didn't ask him to...

"Yes, I'll stay with him."

// _From the lightning in the sky_

_As it passed me flying by_

_From the thunder and the storm_ \\\

Game. Set. And match. Great. Just great. Damned if he's not telling the doctor that he'll stay with me all night in the infirmary. _'Since you clearly have far more serious injuries to other patients to focus on,'_ he says. Seven hells, who did I offend in a past life to bring this sort of humiliation upon myself now? This is not happening to me. I don't need him here, I don't want him here, and I certainly don't want to think about him watching me as I sleep, when I am completely helpless. Why do I get the feeling tonight will hold a few surprises for us both?

// _And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view_ \\\

I'm too tired and woozy to protest any more. He's staying with me. The bane of my existence. The source of most of my frustrations. The reason it's no challenge at all to work myself into a lather whenever he wishes to engage in yet another argument - however much I may enjoy them, though I would certainly never admit to such a thing. I feel nothing for him but irritation. Anger. Bitterness. Resentment. And yet this all feels so... inevitable. It’s as if this was all planned well in advance with the storm clouds just biding their time, waiting to move in and cast their shroud over all I've held dear. My convictions. My sense of self. My control.

You've done it again, Elim. You've opened up the gates, the demon is running rampant, and you're helpless to stop it. And really, if you are truly being honest with yourself for once, do you actually **WANT** to stop it? Let us examine the evidence before us. Beneath that brash, know-it-all façade, there's something indescribably appealing about him. You may not be ready to admit it to yourself just yet but it's there, lurking beneath the surface. If you don't deal with this and I do mean soon, you are going to be lost, possibly forever.

Such a gentle hand, as he brushes my hair out of my eyes. Why now? Why him? Why can’t he simply leave me alone? But part of me that I loathe to acknowledge is actually enjoying his attention. It's such a contrast to how we typically carry ourselves together. And it’s been such a very long time since…

I blame the pain medication entirely for this most unwelcome rush of introspection and self doubt. But still... there's something far more behind his touch. Something in the way he looks at me now, something beyond mere concern. I've been playing this game long enough to know what that look means but nearly always from the other side. They're always so intimidated, so nervous, so willing to do whatever I tell them to do. But I honestly can’t recall the last time I was on the receiving end. And with him? We'd be fighting for the upper hand the entire way.

Am I up for the challenge?


End file.
